


American Sailor

by clearinghouse



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Accents, Devotion, Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:32:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearinghouse/pseuds/clearinghouse
Summary: Watson is greatly surprised when a strange American sailor bursts into the flat, ardently proclaiming his undying love for his sweet English doctor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jade56](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade56/gifts).



Within five seconds of the door of the flat swinging open and a boisterous young sailor striking a pose in the door frame, Watson discovered that Holmes’s latest client was exceedingly unaware of basic propriety.

“My love,” the man in a white costume with a blue tie said sweetly. His dirtied, unshaven face was set with determination, and his coat swung widely about his body as he closed the door behind him. “I’ve come to you," he continued, his accent clearly American, "so that I might bid you my last goodbye.”

Watson set down his journal on his desk and glanced around the flat, wondering who the strange man was talking to. The intended audience couldn’t reasonably be himself. Certainly, he himself had never seen this individual before.

The American held his cap in his hands anxiously. “I have only tonight before duty will call me from England, and I do not know for how long.”

“Are you, by chance, looking for Sherlock Holmes?” Watson asked delicately.

It was curious, Watson thought briefly, how the American’s tragic simper was so bewitching to behold. The man placed his hat on a table and approached Watson, to gently kneel, take Watson’s hand, and kiss it.

Watson was about to say something, though the American’s eyes had a sharpness and the quirk of his mouth had an eagerness which caught Watson’s breath. He recognised those familiar features. They were signs that Watson had grown to love, signs of the person who meant the most to him in the world.

The American did not let up his romantic entreaty. “Let us share this one night, so that I may remember it during my long days at sea.”

Watson sighed a little. “My dear Holmes, really.”

The disguised detective kissed Watson’s hand again, plaintively. This time, the innocuous sensations of hand-holding were intensely captivating. To be able to touch Holmes’s hands this intimately was much too sweet and stirring.

“This…” Watson didn’t quite want to say the word ‘seduction’, so he chose another. “This performance really isn’t necessary, you know. I’m already quite yours, Holmes.”

Two delicate, clever hands fell onto Watson’s face, treasuring the doctor with warm caresses. “My sweet English doctor, let me show you how special you are to me,” Holmes pleaded, catching Watson completely off guard. “Let me prove my eternal devotion to you.”

Suddenly, Watson was left without a long-suffering sigh or any confident remark. “Oh, uh…”

Holmes helped Watson to stand, hand in hand. Holmes’s eyes were dark and blown, and behind them was a soul that seemed positively fond and eager to please. The detective cupped the doctor’s head, held his lower back, and brought him in for an achingly soft, chaste kiss.

“John,” Holmes whispered desperately against Watson’s lips.

Watson couldn’t bring himself to say a word. He could barely think coherently, or stop himself from quivering as Holmes enchanted him.

His beautiful, brilliant man was looking at only him. “Tonight, I’ll be everything your heart desires.”

Watson swallowed.

Holmes kissed Watson again, more passionately, clinging to every part of Watson. “My love.” Another kiss. “I could never have enough time to tell you all the affection that I have for you.” Once more. “Oh, that I might only hold you, just for one more night. How I hate to have to leave you, my love, for everything, I do for you.”

“H-Holmes?”

“We have only one night.” Holmes bowed his head against Watson’s, touching their foreheads together, and it was all so intimate that Watson was blushing with self-consciousness at being so well studied by his long-time partner. “Please, I need to prove myself to you, John. I need to belong to you.”

When Watson had first accepted that fortuitous offer of an eager, clever stranger to take rooms in Baker Street all those years ago in old St Bart’s, he could have never foreseen that sentimental role play would be one of the many adventures that they would be enjoying together.

Holmes gently moved with Watson, until the two were against a wall. Watson was underneath Holmes’s power. “My doctor, did I ever tell you how your kindness fascinates me? It is so unlike the brutishness I have grown so accustomed to in my travels.” Holmes lowered his voice a pitch. “I hope you will forgive me for admitting that it excites a passion in me.”

Indecorous feelings simmered down through Watson, through his legs down to his toes. Though he was fully dressed, he felt naked and vulnerable. The mere idea that he could excite any sort of feeling in his flatmate was fantastic and hard to fathom.

Holmes gave Watson a final, lingering kiss, and then slowly sank to his knees. “Will you wait for me?” he asked quietly. “Will you think of me while I am gone?”

“I’ll a-always love you,” Watson heard himself reply in a moved and serious manner. It was true, too. It had been almost since the two of them had first met.

The worshipful way that Holmes looked up at him made Watson feel like he was precious beyond compare. Holmes nuzzled Watson’s stomach, and Watson’s hands secured themselves on a dark, tempting mass of hair.

Sharp, untamed emotions bubbled deep within Watson, and they threatened to swiftly overtake him. He said, “I’ll miss you,” and for an instant, he wondered if it hadn’t been a mistake to play along and utter those presumptuous words.

However, his companion’s beautiful look of surprise crushed that doubt immediately.

“I’ll think of you every time I feel the warmth of the summer sun,” Watson whispered, “or feel the breeze of the cold winter air. To be here for so long without you will be torturous.” He would think of Holmes constantly. He knew that he would always trick himself into hearing Holmes’s steps on the stairs, or seeing Holmes’s face in a crowd of strangers. “I will long to hear your laugh, your words, even those light snores that you make when we lie side by side at night.”

Holmes’s lips were still parted in amazement. He seemed to be feeling… honoured.

“Sherlock, my true love from across the sea,” Watson said. “I will miss you.”

Wonderment marked Holmes so completely that it made Watson nervous that he perhaps really had said the wrong thing.

At last, however, a strong sense of purpose came over the other man, and he came to life again. Holmes pulled down Watson’s clothes, and instantly sucked down his beloved.

“Oh!” Watson gasped out, and his eyes fluttered closed. “A-Ah…” His head rolled back into the wall, and he shuddered. Holmes could do whatever he liked with Watson. Watson longed for Holmes to do whatever he liked with him. “T-That feels… nice…”

Holmes hummed with pleasure, and moved greedily along his beloved, tasting as much of his gentle doctor as he could and savouring each shy shudder.

“H-Holmes,” Watson whimpered weakly. “Please, take me with you…”

Despite himself, Holmes froze in place, for a split second, making Watson groan with urgent lust and love. When Holmes resumed, he went more slowly than before, as if afraid of not being careful enough with the treasure in his care.

“I am a d-doctor…” The need to claim his warm, charming Holmes was growing too strong for Watson to resist. “I can m-make myself useful enough, o-on a ship,” Watson managed. “I w-would do it for you… a-ah… I would f-follow you to the ends of the earth…”

Holmes’s bright eyes blinked a couple of times, and Watson could scarcely believe the tears he saw restraining themselves in the corners of Holmes’s gaze.

“Lord, please…” Watson wanted to ask Holmes to stay forever, or to ask if he might always be Holmes’s bed mate and most trusted confidante. There were too many things he wanted to say to Holmes, and the only sound that escaped his throat was an urge sob of need.

Holmes’s features were heavily clouded with desire. He held onto Watson’s hips, and compelled him to move into Holmes in earnest.

The joy of being so valued by Holmes mixed obscenely with the fierce, undying loyalty he had for the man. “S-Sherlock,” Watson cried.

An odd memory came to Watson then. He saw Holmes in front of him, sitting in a hansom, with hands folded neatly on his lap. Their knees were touching in the small vehicle, and Holmes was discussing his observations of his latest case. Suddenly, Holmes had stopped talking, and had looked contentedly at Watson.

He’d asked Watson if, once they returned to their shared home, they might sit by the fire together for some little time, and would Watson be good enough to share the latest story or two that he had written?

Reading aloud his own stories to Holmes was one of Watson’s favourite pastimes. At the time, it had startled Watson to learn that such was an activity that his dear Holmes enjoyed, too. How could that possibly be, he had wondered. Wasn’t Holmes an avoider of such inventions of fiction, which gave him no enjoyment or thrill of any kind?

Holmes, as was later apparent, had made an extreme exception in Watson’s case. Everything born from the tip of Watson’s pen had the power to make Holmes happy, even if they were at times too poetic or sentimental, if only, possibly, because they were personal to Watson, and Watson was freely sharing them with him.

In a sense, they were similar to Holmes’s deductions that way.

“When you are thinking of me, H-Holmes, at sea,” Watson moaned lovingly. “I w-will be thinking of you.”

Those dark eyes beneath him sparkled with enthusiasm, and Holmes took Watson even deeper, trying to become one with him, to envelop him, to feel him and be with him completely and forever.

Another memory burst in, and it was of them meeting the morning together. Watson had woken with Holmes in his arms, and, in the dull confusion of the first light, Watson had felt a nervous pang that they were both in pyjamas and were in so intimate a position. Holmes had seemed to notice, and reassured him with kind whispers of devotion. Swiftly, Watson had remembered that they were both in love, and that Watson’s feelings were welcome to Holmes.

His Holmes. His simple sailor on holiday.

Watson had held tightly onto his dear American for a very long time that day, kissing him and giving him all his love, doing whatever he could to see his Holmes grin from ear to ear. They had laughed together over some idle small talk, and Watson all the while had marvelled at the gorgeously foreign way that his beloved from across the sea spoke. Strictly speaking, it hadn’t been a remarkable morning. It had just been a few hours of precious quality time together. While they still had time.

The overwhelmed, lovesick doctor spent himself violently into his beloved, blessing his dear sailor’s name as he did.

Holmes welcomed Watson’s gift, and then took his time to lick Watson clean, making Watson shiver and collapse to the floor with Holmes’s guiding help. Watson blinked dazedly, and groped for any part of Holmes within reach, just to be sure of him.

He found him. Thank goodness. His passionate sailor was still with him. So much relief and happiness came upon Watson’s spirit that he sighed with relief.

As his childlike eagerness grew more profound with every passing moment, Holmes fixed up Watson’s clothes, and crawled upon his now sleepy doctor. “Watson, thank you.” Holmes’s charming American accent was uneasily giving way, and the British gentleman surfaced momentarily. “You are so generous to me.”

No. Not yet. It couldn’t be over so soon. “Sh,” Watson comforted, and quickly accepted Holmes into his embrace, turning the tables on his sailor. “I have you now, my beautiful American.”

“W-Watson?” The foreigner returned in a delighted rush.

An awfully good rush of pride swam through Watson. He began to undress Holmes. “If I can’t come with you on your tour,” Watson said tenderly, “then, I will wait for you. I would write to you, so that you would never be alone.”

Holmes bowed his head slightly. “I will never be able to repay your kindness to me.”

“Now, there, it’s quite all right.” Watson caught a flicker of melancholy in Holmes’s mood, and jumped upon it with a guardian’s zeal. “Don’t think of our parting, my love. Rather, think of our life in the future.”

A scintillating new hope appeared. “We… shall be together again, you believe?”

“Yes, of course.” The words were heavy with certainty. Finally, Watson cupped Holmes and cared for him with a few calm strokes.

“A-Ah…!” Holmes doubled over. His head fell into the crook of Watson’s neck.

This degenerate, depraved, desperate, loving closeness with Sherlock Holmes was Watson’s greatest pride, and his greatest shame. It was to be shared with no one but Holmes, and only Holmes, and entirely with Holmes. It was incredible to Watson that he could give his companion whatever kind of comfort Holmes might enjoy.

The timid truth was that Watson was never happier, or, in fact, more driven to desire, than in moments when he was of service to Holmes.

“John…”

“It will happen suddenly,” Watson continued. “You’ll see me standing there, and it will have been so long since we last saw one another that you’ll hardly believe I could still be there for you.”

“W-We’ll meet again,” Holmes murmured to himself, breathlessly. His body rocked slowly into Watson’s touch, wanting more but not daring it.

Watson’s throat dried at the sight. “I-I’ll be there to love you every day,” he promised. “And we’ll live together, like we always knew we would.” The words came to Watson without him thinking them over, as he hardly needed to.

“P-Please…”

“And, I’ll do this for you whenever you wish. You can relax. I have you.”

Though his dear Holmes was hard with infatuation and yearning in his hand, Watson patiently took his time as he relieved Holmes with pleasure.

After all, he wanted to make this night perfectly memorable for his sailor.

Holmes whimpered. “John, please…” His voice thrummed with a long, pleading moan.

An abrupt spike of guilt through Watson’s heart corrected him. He wasn’t just trying to make this a memorable night.

He simply didn’t want this to end. He didn’t want to be apart from Holmes, not ever. Cherishing every part of Holmes like this, and guiltily watching how Holmes was so clearly moved by it, was paradise for Watson.

Holmes’s breathed raggedly against Watson, and was able to raise his head to meet Watson’s gaze. “Darling,” Holmes rasped.

“I-Isn’t it beautiful to imagine?” Watson asked. He decided to let his guilt wrought whatever chaos it wanted within him, for he was infinitely more interested in Holmes’s emotions at the moment. “Our future together?”

“Y-Yes…” Holmes closed his eyes, and mewled immediately, as Watson gave him several particularly impassioned touches, for Holmes’s displays of trust in Watson sometimes made the doctor do outrageous things.

Watson helped Holmes lie back against the floor. Holmes was still closing his eyes, and moving gratefully with Watson’s strokes. Watching Holmes really did terrific things to Watson’s pulse.

“J-John...” Holmes reached blindly above him, to pull Watson against his side. “By Jove, please, t-tell me that, whatever h-happens, we’ll a-always meet each other again?”

With his heart on the verge of bursting, Watson answered, “Always, old boy.”

Holmes’s thankful smile was too adorable. Watson kissed his sweet companion fervently and satisfied him with long strokes that, he hoped, were loving enough to lull Holmes into peacefulness and send any remaining loneliness far away.

When the morning came, a miracle must have taken place, for they found themselves still together. They were clumsily tangled all over each other, in the bed that they had shared last night and, indeed, shared almost every night. Neither was the least bothered by it. Rather, both of them were perfectly comfortable and warm.

End~~


End file.
